


four exhausted eyes

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Santa Clarita Diet (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Panic Attacks, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, Sunrises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 15:10:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18471496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: Abby takes him up on his offer about her nightmares.





	four exhausted eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Yep! Spoilers for S3 of course. But in a vagueish way. No major plot things, just little things. Because it was a little thing in the show that inspired me to write this when watching what was it... episode 7? 8? Anyway, so I don't have a set time for this other than right after that. 
> 
> title inspired by this quote/poem:
> 
> _Late night phone calls:_   
>  _Four exhausted eyes,_   
>  _Two excited hearts._
> 
> \-- Nashrina Islam

                She wakes up hyperventilating.

 

                She can’t get air in fast enough. Enough of it in. It’s like her body’s suddenly forgotten how the breathing thing _works_.

 

                What’s that thing she’s supposed to do when her heart feels like this? Like it’s beating so hard it feels like it’ll come right out of her chest? Eric always says –

 

                _Eric_.

 

                She scrambles for her phone, nearly tearing the charger out of the outlet in an effort to grab it. The screen makes it hard to see when she unlocks it; it’s so starkly bright in the darkness of her room. Her fingers are shaking so hard that she has to type it three times before it lets her in. From there, it’s much easier to navigate, especially since Eric was one of the last people she called anyway.

 

                It rings twice before he can pick up. As she waits, her fingers attempt to trace the outline of her case, sometimes twitching off the edge of it.

 

                “ _Mmph… Abby?_ ”

 

                She is – thankfully – too distracted to deal with the way his croaky, sleepy voice sounds right now. And by distracted, she means that she feels like she’s fucking _dying_.

 

                She tries to reply, but she can’t seem to get any words out. They’re stuck in her throat, and her mouth is cottony. It’s dry and thick and maybe she’s taken in too much air? Is that why? Could that kill her? Too much air and not enough at the same time? It was probably what was killing her right now.

 

                So, instead of a greeting, all Eric hears over the phone is her panting.

 

                It doesn’t take him long to wake up enough to realize what’s happening.

 

                “ _Hey_ ,” he tries, and though his voice has an undertone of anxiety threading through it, it’s obvious that he’s trying for soothing. “ _Hey, Abby. I need you to focus on my voice right now. I think you’re having a panic attack_.”

 

                Is that what that is? Is that what it’s called when her chest feels like one big, agonizing pain? Like every breath she’s taken is now starting to feel sharp as it goes down her throat and into her lungs?

 

                “ _Focus on me and try to breathe in deeply._ ” She does, and it hurts, oh god, it hurts, she doesn’t want to, but, “ _That’s it. Hold the breath, just for a second. Yeah. Now, let it out, slowly. Slowly._ ”

 

                She does as he tells him, taking in air through the mouth, pausing for as long as she can (a few seconds), and then pushing out slowly through the nose. With time – and she doesn’t know how much, minutes? hours? – her breathing begins to stabilize, and her heart even seems to settle.

 

                At some point, she’s able to concentrate on more than just his voice and slowing herself down. On the other end of the line, she thinks she can hear him moving about, doing something. That particular observation comes to her distantly, and floats away between one inhale and the next. She doesn’t ask him about it.

 

                _Breathe in_. _Hold it._

_Hold it._

_Longer – if you can_.

 

                (Unspoken, _I can, Eric._ )

 

                _Now you can breathe out. Take a second._

_Next one now, slowly, slowly…_

 

                “Hey.”

 

                She looks up at the sound of his voice in front of her, just a step inside her bedroom. He’s holding his phone at his side, but he hasn’t ended the call, because she can hear the echo of his voice coming from her own phone. Over his shoulder, he has a backpack slung over his shoulder, but she doesn’t recognize it as his usual one. Even from only a few feet away, the sight of details are blurry and she’s having trouble focusing on it too much to ask any questions.

 

                Eric seems to understand this without her speaking a word, because he just makes his way over to her, carefully shutting the door closed behind him. He pauses only long enough to toe off his shoes before he’s crawling up onto the bed and to sit beside her at the headboard. He watches her as he does, his gaze unwavering and concerned.

 

                Abby has to look away from those eyes, but in her weakened state, she has to admit to herself that she doesn’t feel cornered by them. Only comforted.

 

                There’s a sound of a zipper being worked, and more shuffling. “I’ve brought food, and some water.” Beside her, the blankets dip under the weight of a full water bottle. “You have two choices. Crackers or a dark chocolate almond granola bar.” He takes in a breath and adds, like the words will sweeten the deal, “It’s the chewy kind.”

 

                She glances at the small pile out of the corner of her eye as she ends the call on her phone. “I’m not hungry.”

 

                That’s not all, however. She doesn’t think she’d even have the energy to eat. Just moving her hands, tilting her head… it’s taxing. She feels so drained. Every inch of her feels empty and weak. But still, she doesn’t think she could sleep now, not after that…

 

                _… drowning, she thinks she’s drowning. There’s water everywhere, in her mouth, in her eyes, in her nose, in her lungs. It’s cold and hot at the same time. Freezing her skin and burning her up from the inside. It’s like swallowing lava. It burns, it burns like_ fire _…_

 

                “Well, you should eat something anyway,” Eric tells her, and though he doesn’t make her look at his face, he holds the snacks up into her view. “We need to get your blood sugar back to normal. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

 

                And, well, feeling better _does_ sound like a nice prospect…

 

                “…the granola,” she concedes.

 

                She can hear him unwrapping it, and without even having to look, she can tell he’s smiling, just from the pleased tone his voice takes on when he says, “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

 

                She’s not strong enough right now to resist the twitching upwards that the corners of her lips do. But she certainly wouldn’t admit it happened, even if pressed.

 

                Eric hands her smaller pieces of the granola, one at a time. She’s slow enough that the chocolate melts on her fingers, but he doesn’t push her to eat any faster. Between each piece, he’ll suggest she take drink some, but appears content with her only taking a few sips at a time. The cool water soothes her cracked throat, dampening her dried mouth, and washing away bits of oats and almonds.

 

                After she’s finished the entire bar and is halfway through the bottle, Eric clears his throat. Though she can’t bother actually turning to look at him, Abby does tilt her body more in his direction to let her know that she is listening.

 

                “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, and though it was an easy, unassuming question, it spikes some of the panic from before up in her. “Your dream, I mean, if that was what set you off.”

 

                She shakes her head and, knowing that he’s gearing up to say a sweet, little _okay, well, you don’t have to, I just wanted to offer_ , she continues aloud, “Not right now. Not so… soon.”

 

                Not when it’s this fresh, still bleeding, oozing underneath the band aid of his care.

 

                There’s a short pause, an exhale from him, before his simple, “Okay.”

 

                Okay.

 

                Okay. And that’s it. Nothing more.

 

                But he doesn’t have to. Not when that single word is filled with other things unsaid, filled with pure _understanding_. He knows exactly what it’s like.

 

                Instead, he changes the topic. He tells her, “I’m glad you called me.”

 

                “I’m glad you answered,” she returns with a fragile smile that she isn’t even sure he sees. He probably does. He’s always looking at her.

 

                She wants to add more to that. Tell him thanks for being there, as he always is. Thanks for knowing what to do. Thanks for the food and the water and the taking care of her. Thanks for being her best friend. Thanks for making her feel so safe.

 

                It’s quiet, after that, save for their breathing. Hers, still shaky, is loud enough, but she can hear his, too, on occasion. It’s grounding, like an anchor, holding her in place, in this one moment. Time continues to chug along, the world still spins, but he is here, with her. It is the two of them, just him beside her, on her bed.

 

                She still feels delicate, like a piece of fine china on an edge of a table, seconds from teetering off and shattering on the floor. Still, she doesn’t want to close her eyes. She doesn’t trust her dreams to not follow the same pattern as what lead them to this moment. She knows that she probably needs to try anyway.

 

                Except, when she says she doesn’t want to sleep, Eric states that he won’t leave, then, unless he has to. He will stay until she tells him to, or he gets called back home.

 

                Shifting on the bed, she moves into his space and drops her head on his shoulder. She can feel the way he tenses underneath her temple, and then after a very long minute, relaxes. Her smile from before returns when he turns into her, giving her more room to make herself comfortable on him. He’s warm under his threadbare shirt, and it almost feels as if she’s touching his bare skin. She lets that thought flutter away rather than indulging it.

 

                Outside the window, the sun comes up, painting the walls of her room a pale gold. She watches the light chase away the shadows on her floor, inch by inch, as slow and dull as watching a clock’s hand move. When the ray hits the covers and begins to crawl over their sprawled bodies, she moves her hand with it.

 

                It comes to rest over Eric’s own, and he is warmer than any sunbeam she’s ever felt.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you have a wonderful rest of your day!


End file.
